He was sitting on the edge of the table, staring into the doctor's eyes. His nose looked like the side of a big hill. The eyes were empty, and above each one there were jagged cuts held together by thin strips of clamped tapes. But the real hurt was visible only when he moved off the table, and then his body hung slightly to the left and his face expressed pain when he walked. He had taken an unforgettable beating.

"I told you I was tough," he said. "I'm California tough."

Wayne Thornton was indeed that. For 15 rounds at Shea Stadium a crowd of 12,000 watched Light Heavyweight Champion Jose Torres hammer Thornton with everything but the scoreboard, watched Torres flirt with true greatness and finally witnessed a fight that for pure elemental conflict stood out like Thornton's nose. It was, if your sensibilities could stand it, a magic night for boxing.

It was also a fight that was actually over in the first round. Midway in that round Torres, a 9-to-5 favorite who was making his first title defense and first appearance in a year (in New York's first outdoor show in six years), delivered the blow that finished Thornton. He slammed a right to the back of the challenger's left kidney, and it jacked Thornton up for the eventual devastation. Then, spinning to the left, Torres dug a left hook to the other kidney and followed that with a right cross. Thornton was on his way down, and Torres kept chopping away until Thornton was draped over the ropes. He was down twice in that round, but he survived, and that was all he would do the rest of the evening. He had nothing left.

Willie Pastrano, who was at ringside, pointed to Thornton after the first-round butchery, raised his eyebrows and spread his hands by his heart. Thornton had to have all heart now, he was saying, and who should have known better than Willie? The punch that caught Thornton, the one behind the kidney, was similar to the one that Torres used to destroy Willie's heart—and career.

Still, Torres did not come out of the round undamaged. He had a cut extending the length of his right eye, where Thornton had butted him. He had difficulty seeing out of it until the eighth round, and between the second and eighth he was not the fighter he had been in the beginning. Chiefly, he appeared tired and discouraged because he had not been able to put Thornton away. He did, however, open cuts above both of Thornton's eyes in the fifth round.

Thornton was staggered again in the eighth and ninth, and at one point he caught nine straight blows to the head. After that series Torres just shook his head. If he was annoyed at Thornton's indestructibility, he was even more disturbed by his opponent's back-alley tactics. Thornton heeled, held (mainly Torres' left hand, the one that kept raking the right kidney), butted and used his shoulder. In the eighth, after a verbal exchange in a clinch, Thornton stuck his tongue out at Torres.

"Man, he ees a dirty fighter," Torres said later in the dressing room. "He uses terrible language, too. But I don't mind. I just don't like when he grab my nose and start twisting it. One time he did that and I say, 'Hey, man, let her go.' I also kept sayin' to him, 'Man, you can't fight. I can fight. You punch like a little girl.' "

Thornton did not apologize for his crudity. "Sure," he said, "I knew I was fouling him. Why not? I'd have hit him over the head with the stool if I could. This was for the title."

To be certain, the title in itself is enough to inspire any fighter, but there was a bit more at stake for Jose Torres in this one. He was searching for an identity that he had lost. A proud, intelligent man, he has always wanted to be a symbol to his people. "I only knew I owed my people," he said, telling of his thoughts before the Pastrano fight. "I could only think about my position as the champion. Important people would listen to me, people who could help improve the conditions in which most Puerto Ricans live."

When he did become champion, he returned to Puerto Rico as that symbol. "The government offices closed, the schools closed," he said, "and the sick people waved to me from hospital windows and I heard the sirens of the firehouses and the ringing of church bells.' Then it all changed. He did not defend his title for a year, the main reason being that he had a pancreas condition. But the Puerto Rican people did not understand anything about—"what you call thees?"—pancreas. Heroes fight, and they fight often. A fighter is not a politician or a writer (Torres wants to be a writer). A fighter just fights.

"I want to win sensationally," he said before meeting Thornton, "so I can convince my people that I am a hero."

Torres did all of that, and was every bit as good as his words. "Now I am a professional," he had said while in training. "I can do many things I wouldn't dare do before. I am on the verge of being an artist." Torres has always had quick, powerful hands that explode into deadly combinations, but equally impressive in last week's fight was the way he moved. When he threw a right to the kidney he was in and out, spinning and cutting to the other side, where he would shoot a left hand to the other kidney or hook to the head. The moves were fluid, and more than anything they reflected a man who knew his business and knew that his business in the immediate future is going to be making money out of his title. His biggest purse prior to Thornton had been only $14,850. For this one Torres received $75,000. Thornton collected $25,000, some of which he will have to squander on a nose job.

"One day I'll get it fixed," said Thornton. "Maybe when I'm through fighting. But I don't pay much attention to it anyway. I've got a lot to show for it."

He had chopped cotton in Louisiana when he was 10 years old, and then he moved to California, where he rode "sickles" and the waves of the Pacific and where, as a kid, he looked for fights and usually found them. But now Thornton is all respectability, the owner of four apartment buildings and an insurance agency, and he walks around forever smiling like a guy who has put something over on the world. "Why do I always smile?" he asks. "Why not? I never thought life could be this good."

This, of course, was said before the fight. Afterward it took a while for the old buoyancy to reassert itself. When it did, his smile told anyone who was interested that Wayne Thornton's life does not change because of one beating. Yes, he was disappointed, but that was only because he had been so impotent against Torres. All he could do was hold on. His plan had been to crowd Torres, to stay in command and to go to the body early and then to the head.

"I just didn't have anything left after that punch to the kidney in the first round," he said. "We thought Torres would fold between the second and eighth rounds, but he didn't. Even if he had, I couldn't have done anything. Sure, it seemed he'd forget to throw to the kidney for three rounds, but then he'd come back and—rap, rap, rap!"

Would he fight Torres again?

"I'd do it once a week. Just give me time to rest," he said, and then, as if remembering something he should have never forgotten, he added: "Willie Pastrano warned me of that kidney punch. He said he got hit there by Torres, too, and that he saw yellow spots. I saw them, too."

Over in the other dressing quarters, which were jammed with such friends as Norman Mailer and Peter Falk and a phalanx of his countrymen, Torres sat in a little office before coming out to the main room. When he did emerge, the Puerto Ricans started shouting: "Here he comes, here he comes! Make way for Jose." Torres found his way to a table and stood on it. The cameras flashed, and the questions fell. "Yes," he said, "I saw Clay fight on television this afternoon. I think I had a tougher time with Thornton than I would with Clay."

"Arriba, arriba!" his followers squealed in response to the answer.


(BY MARK KRAM - from May 30th, 1966)

January 1968

It was vicious. It was bloody. It was grueling. And it was fantastic.

Each man forced the other to fight harder and dig deeper than at any other point in their lives, much less their boxing careers. One was forced to climb off the canvas while the other was driven toward it a number of times. The fight’s cuts were so deep and so pulsating that the crimson covered their torsos and made portions of the canvas sticky. The blood-letting was only exceeded by the Mexico City crowd’s desire to crown a new champion.

25-year-old Chartchai Chionoi, 46-10-2 (31) was making the third defense of the WBC flyweight title he won from Scotland’s Walter McGowan via cut-induced ninth round TKO in front of his home fans in Bangkok. Since then he had fought five times and won them all, four by KO and two in defense of his title (KO 3 Puntip Keosuriya and another cut-marred TKO 7 over McGowan). Chionoi wasn’t the most skilled boxer but he used his iron will and phenomenally heavy hands to carry him to the very top of his profession. The Torres fight marked only the second time Chionoi ventured beyond the Far East and because of what happened the first time around — McGowan led on points in their London rematch at the time of the stoppage — one had to doubt whether the Thai would walk out with the title still strapped around his waist. Another point of concern: Chionoi, who normally struggled to make the 112-pound limit, scaled a stunningly light 109¾, two full pounds less than Torres and 15¼ pounds lighter than his non-title go against Mimoun Ben Ali just 51 days earlier.

Efren Torres, 48-4-1 (32), was a dangerous hitter, especially early as 23 of his knockouts had occurred in four rounds or less. His last three losses signified his quality as he lost two fights to Hiroyuki Ebihara (12-round split decision, KO by 7) and, in his first title opportunity 13 months earlier, pushed 72-1-6 WBA king Horacio Accavallo to the limit before dropping a close decision to the Argentine under an unusual 20-point must scoring system (Torres lost by scores of 297-294 twice and 298-293). The 24-year-old challenger had won four straight since then, including a five round KO over Octavio Gomez and, most recently, a 10-round points nod over perennial contender Joe Medel in a bantamweight contest.

The terms of battle were established right after the opening bell. Torres sportingly extended his left glove to touch Chionoi’s but the defending champ ignored the entreaty and unloaded a wild overhand right that missed the target badly and threw him off balance. From there they probed for openings and it was clear that the circling Torres was far more nimble than the flat-footed Chionoi. Torres’ quicker combinations and sharper punching enabled him to shade a close first round.

The second saw Chionoi accelerate the pace and unleash his full assortment of uniquely angled power shots. The Thai won a brief but explosive mid-ring exchange and moments later a thudding right to the jaw floored Torres along the ropes. Up at two, Torres quickly wiped his gloves on his trunks and brightly stared into referee Arthur Mercante’s eyes as he administered the mandatory eight. The visage that Mercante assessed also included a nasty cut over the left eye, a gash that would spill untold crimson on the canvas and would require 15 stitches to close. Determined not to let his circumstances get the best of him, Torres eagerly waded back into the fire and got in several effective hooks and crosses before the bell.

Chionoi again fanned on the big right to start the third but hit the target with his deceptively fast hammers as Torres moved and searched for openings. Less than a minute into the session the pair engaged in a vigorous toe-to-toe exchange that moved to all parts of the ring. Torres mixed his attack well between head and body while Chionoi’s attention was locked on worsening the cut. A huge right gonged off Torres’ chin but this time the Mexican’s legs held firm. As the round neared its end Torres connected with his own sweeping right that caused the champion to lean his torso back but little more.

The fourth started with another big exchange at ring center and this time Torres hit pay dirt as a compact right caused Chionoi’s right knee to buckle and the crowd to erupt in joyful waves. A double hook to the body and jaw drove the Thai to the ropes, sparking a torrent of blows from the challenger. Torres pelted Chionoi from every angle imaginable but the champion’s chin, legs and composure managed to remain strong. As he passed by Mercante glanced at Torres’ cut, whose byproducts now covered the challenger’s face, but chose to let the action continue unabated. Realizing the fight might be stopped at any time, Torres increased the pressure even more and worked over Chionoi with a succession of hooks to the head and body. Through it all Chionoi remained unflappable and near round’s end he landed with a tightly arced hook to the chin that served to stop Torres’ advance momentarily.

Chionoi missed with another overhand right to start round five – why he continued that tactic remained a mystery – but he fared better when he maneuvered Torres to the ropes and landed a good body-head combo. The faster Torres continued to pepper Chionoi with sharp punches that piled up points but unfortunately for the challenger the cut continued to bleed. A heavy one-two twisted Chionoi’s head but improbably ignited an energetic counterattack that prompted Torres to cut his surge short. Still, the blows prompted notice to the left side of Chionoi’s face, which was swelling noticeably.

Round six was a big round for Torres as he buzzed Chionoi twice with fusillades of close-range punches, some of which worsened the bulge above the champion’s left eye. Chionoi’s situation worsened early in the seventh when, following a fantastic mid-ring exchange, a Torres hook to the jaw sent him reeling toward the ropes. Under today’s rules his stumble would have been ruled a knockdown but here it just allowed Torres to swarm him uninterrupted. Only a champion’s pride kept the Thai on his feet.

With every passing round the blood cascading from Torres’ face became more of an issue, especially when the bout moved to long range in the eighth and ninth rounds. The taller Chionoi’s jab stabbed Torres’ face, which was now a bright red mask, but Chionoi’s growingly misshapen visage, which now saw blood coming out of the nose, wasn’t much better. The crimson covered both men’s torsos and trunks and one had to wonder how much longer either man’s body would hold up. At the start of round 10, a Torres corner man was seen wiping the blood off the sticky canvas.

Sensing time might be running out for him, Torres summoned a surge in the 11th that had Chionoi cut over the left eye, tottering about the ring and bent at the waist. Once again, the ultra-tough Thai survived without hitting the floor but that said, he still absorbed a frightful beating.

That beating continued throughout the first two minutes of the 12th. But in between taking bombs Chionoi slipped in enough punches to keep the blood flowing from Torres’ face. A stupendous hook-cross to the face caused Torres’ legs to buckle, forced the challenger into instant retreat and quieted Torres’ boisterous fans.

Entering the 13th the scoring couldn’t have been more divided. Mercante had Torres a huge 116-107 winner while one judge somehow had Chionoi up 115-111. The third jurist had neither ahead as the tally read 113-113. As the fighters prepared to answer the bell they looked as if they had spent the afternoon at a slaughterhouse.

Chionoi jolted Torres’ head with a tightly delivered hook early in the round but an even shorter hook caused the champion to pause. Seconds later Mercante stared into Torres’ face and didn’t like the damage he saw. He led the challenger to a neutral corner and summoned the ring physician, who briefly dabbed the blood with a tissue before waving his arms and stopping the contest at the 1:15 mark of round 13.

The instant Chionoi realized he had won he ran toward Torres’ corner, dropped to the floor and wrapped his arms around the challenger’s shins, which may well have been a gesture of humility and respect for a fight well waged.

“He’s the toughest man I ever fought,” Chionoi said through an interpreter. “He is definitely the second best flyweight in the world.”

Torres probably begged to differ, for it appeared that had he not been cut he would have had a good chance of lifting the title. The only way to settle the score was to have a second fight, and perhaps a rubber match.

That’s exactly what happened. Thirteen months later they returned to the El Toreo in Mexico City and this time Torres benefited from a Chionoi injury. A horribly swollen left eye slammed shut, prompting Mercante and the ring doctor to stop the contest in round eight. Thirteen months after that, they met in Bangkok, where Chionoi regained the title by close but unanimous decision.

(by Lee Groves)